


certains t'ont promis la terre

by Las



Category: Secret Garden - Burnett
Genre: Class Issues, F/M, Future Fic, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, Threesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-01
Updated: 2010-06-01
Packaged: 2017-10-09 20:59:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/91571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Las/pseuds/Las
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A decade later, and some things change.</p>
            </blockquote>





	certains t'ont promis la terre

**Author's Note:**

> Written for 1sentence.livejournal.com.

_1\. ring _  
“That’s how tha’ knows the master loves thee, Miss Mary,” says Martha, who has never ceased to call her that howsoever much Mary insists, “that he goes all up an’ down London looking for a ring as fine as this, an’ tha’ knows how scarce things are, with the war.”

_2\. hero_  
But instead Dickon just feels suddenly tired, and Mary is still insisting that nothing will change.

_3\. memory _  
They had spent long days on the moor, clambering over the rocks, running across the plain, opening their arms to the sky and each other.

_4\. box_  
When she is alone or weary and especially both, she takes out the yellowed scrap of paper: _I wil cum bak_, as simple as times were back then and as trustworthy as the Magic that pushed the flowers up from the ground.

_5\. run_  
“Don’t be a spoilsport, Sowerby,” says Colin as Mary kisses Dickon once on the cheek and once on the mouth, before Colin grabs the front of his shirt and tugs him closer, and Dickon is late for supper after all.

_6\. hurricane_  
The autumn storms are bleak and merciless, and Colin, with toast in one hand and a book in the other, asks her if they are anything like the monsoons in India, and she says yes, a little.

_7\. wings_  
“Where will tha’ fly to, my missel-thrush, when tha’rt grown?”

_8\. cold _  
The roof leaks and the windows rattle and Dickon sings to his younger siblings all the lullabies he knows, lets them cling to him screaming when the moors echo with thunder and the promise of winter around the bend.

_9\. red _  
Mary tries on a succession of dresses that are as white as the first snow and they are too big, too small, too scratchy, too ugly, and she sends them all back.

_10\. drink _  
It was Colin who had sneaked her her first drink when they were younger, and later his mouth was sweet with rum, and eager with discovery.

_11\. midnight _  
Colin snores and Dickon doesn’t, and neither knows if Mary snores because she never stays.

_12\. temptation _  
Mary felt it tug at her heart the day Dickon insisted she teach him all the Hindi she knew, and the familiar syllables rolled off her tongue to be reshaped by his lilting Yorkshire: _pyar_ for love, _ghar_ for home, and _udyaan_, for garden.

_13\. view _  
Like the curve of her spine where it dips into the small of her back, and like her sighs, so soft, as Dickon presses his lips to her shoulder and her neck, the hollow at the base of her throat.

_14\. music_  
Colin takes to dancing and football with equal zeal (though he is awful at the latter), refusing to be defeated by his body again.

_15\. silk_  
His gray eyes bore into Dickon’s with fearless patience, and finally he sighs, “That’s hardly the point.”

_16\. cover_  
You don’t need eyes, not in this darkness, when hands and mouths see better than eyes ever can.

_17\. promise_  
Ben Weatherstaff died four years after Mary arrived at Misselthwaite and, every year since, all three of them go to his grave to lay flowers and to remember.

_18\. dream_  
Familiar spices on her tongue and the soft petals of bougainvillea tickling her face – but she wakes up, and she is in England.

_19\. candle_  
The flame doesn’t illuminate much, but Dickon can make Colin out as a shadow in the dark, and blows out the candle by whispering his name.

_20\. talent_  
“It’s a secret,” she giggles, and Dickon grins at the mischief in her eyes and lets Mary push him to the bed.

_21\. silence_  
The sky, the winds, the moors, and silence: all things that tend towards infinity, or what Dickon imagines it to be.

_22\. journey_  
He has never heard of half these places, so when Colin concludes with “–and then, Singapore!” and looks at him as if for a reaction, Dickon just smiles uncertainly.

_23\. fire_  
The first time was when he had stumbled upon them in the garden, and Colin laughed out loud seeing the blush on his face – “Oh, Dickon, come here,” – held out his hand and pulled him close as Mary ran her fingers through his hair, and then Dickon is kissed and kissed and kissed.

_24\. strength_  
When they were children, Colin preferred for Mary to push him on the swing, because Dickon didn’t respond to demands of “Higher! Higher!” – _as if I am still an invalid_, he had thought indignantly – but Mary pushed with all her might, and laughed with him.

_25\. mask_  
Mary takes her cousin’s hands in hers, and manages, “Why would it be otherwise?”

_26\. ice_  
The winter brings ice-skating, snowmen, and snowball fights like the years haven’t passed at all, and Mary is glad that this at least hasn’t changed.

_27\. fall_  
“But surely there’s a right, surely there’s a wrong,” Dickon protests, but Colin silences him with lips as soft as Mary’s.

_28\. forgotten_  
Dickon held a finger to his lips as they approached the fox’s den, and this made Colin frown – he didn’t need to be told what to do – but all offense melted when he saw the cubs, so small and full of life; he told Dickon they looked quite wick and Dickon agreed with a smile.

_29\. dance_  
“I’ve had enough of this blasted practicing,” Mary mutters as she slips out of Colin’s arms, suggesting instead that they finalize which wines they would serve, and an hour later they fall into his bed, soused and giddy, giggling into each other’s mouths.

_30\. body_  
Dickon catalogues the similarities: skinny ankles and strong hands, pale skins and a tendency towards fierce promises.

_31\. sacred_  
“_This_ is,” Colin retorts, gesturing at the garden around them, and, yes, Mary has to agree with him there.

_32\. farewells_  
“That may be true,” his father replies, stirring his tea contemplatively, “but there are a thousand ways to leave someone.”

_33\. world_  
“Right here, of course,” Mary murmurs, her head on Colin’s lap as Dickon beside them plays his pipe into the peace of the garden.

_34\. formal_  
It takes a whole morning for Colin to teach him how to tie a tie because of Dickon’s cheerfully feigned ignorance; he likes the serious look on the young Craven’s face when he gabbles on so, and the indignant blush when Dickon teases him about it.

_35\. fever_  
She is not afraid and she is not regretful, but the knowledge of what is to come sits in Mary’s belly like a stone.

_36\. laugh_  
“I am main fond of thee,” says Mary, and smiles self-consciously in a way that makes Dickon chuckle and ruffle her hair.

_37\. lies_  
Colin offers Dickon a drink and asks how his family are doing instead.

_38\. forever_  
“I don’t make promises like that, Mary,” Dickon says softly, and somehow she isn’t surprised, but oh, she had hoped.

_39\. overwhelmed_  
“I know when my wedding is,” Mary snaps and, at the expression on Martha’s face, regrets it; after all, Martha is just happy for her.

_40\. whisper_  
Only hours before the ceremony, Dickon bends to kiss her mouth and Mary finds herself turning her face away.

_41\. wait_  
It’s not like Dickon doesn’t know what’s coming, not like he doesn’t know his place in this world, but Mary is resplendent in white lace as she floats past him down the aisle and something clenches in his throat.

_42\. talk_  
The smiles and congratulations begin to blur and Colin can see the tightness around Mary’s eyes too, for neither of them are used to such large parties.

_43\. search_  
They sleep well, at first.

_44\. hope_  
“And we should plant jonquils,” Mary muses, “and delphiniums and lilies, and what do you think of crocuses?”

_45\. eclipse_  
“Of course,” Mary replies, but Colin knows his cousin, and recognizes the look in her eyes.

_46\. gravity_  
In the last days of summer, Dickon finds her napping in the garden by the roses and her gardening tools and, with her dirt-stained cheeks and her careless hair, he falls in love with her all over again.

_47\. highway_  
“When are you going to make a grandfather out of me?” his father teases, and Colin wishes he’d stop it; it makes Mary uncomfortable.

_48\. unknown_  
“Dickon, my boy,” his mother says softly, and strokes his hair and smiles at him all gentle as she serves him his tea, and Dickon knows he doesn’t need to say anything for her to understand.

_49\. lock_  
Mary notices when he stops calling her his missel-thrush.

_50\. breathe_  
And although he loves Mary, loves Colin, loves the garden, he is always relieved to walk back out to his moor, which is more familiar to him than he thinks a lover would ever be.


End file.
